Return to Cascade - LilyK

Note: Based on the movie Big Eden.

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Blair: Going Home

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"Is this man adorable or what?" Melody Ambrose gushed, waving a copy of the book in front of Blair Sandburg's face. A copy of his book, he noted with a sigh, bearing his smiling face.

Blair grimaced. "Yeah, yeah. Adorable," he groused.

Melody laughed, her long, dark hair swaying and her eyes sparkling. "Don't you worry your pretty little head," she said, poking a finger into Blair's chest. "We'll find you a boyfriend yet."

Holding up his hands in shock, Blair answered, "We? And just who says I need a boyfriend?"

Melody grinned wider. "When was the last time you got laid?"

"That's none of your business! You're my agent, not my -- mother! Or my romance counselor. If I wanted a date, I'd sign up for romance dot com or some such junk." Blair glared, hands on his hips. "No setting me up! The only time you talked me into it, it was a total disaster!"

Melody rolled her eyes and glanced at her secretary, June, drawing her into the conversation. "Did you think that Marco was that bad?"

June shrugged. "If you like big, beefy apes. Me, I prefer the more -- sensitive type." She turned large brown eyes on Blair, and tried to look innocent.

Blair glared even more, knowing that the two women had once again conspired to find him a date. "You two stay out of my love life. All I want from this company is book sales, nothing more."

Slipping an arm around Blair's shoulders, Melody laughed. "Come on, Blair, let's go into my office and talk about your latest best seller. No matchmaking, I promise."

Blair relaxed minutely. "Honest?"

"Yes," Melody said with an exaggerated sigh. "Honest." She held up her hand, mimicking the Girl Scout pledge sign.

"Cool. Then let's talk business. I need to get psyched up for the book signing tomorrow night."

"But you usually love books signings. What gives?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. Lately..." He gave her a disconcerted smile. "Who knows?"

"It's because your love life sucks," Melody muttered. At Blair's condemning glare, she looked innocent, grinned and shrugged, asking, "You want coffee?"

Casting what he hoped was a look that made his friend realize that he wasn't joking about no interfering with his love life, he finally answered, "Yes, please."

"Go," Melody said with an affectionate smile, shooing Blair in the direction of her office. "Sit down. I'll grab a couple of cups and be right in. I guess if we have to, we might as well work."

Blair laughed, shaking his head. "You know why I love you?"

"Because I'm beautiful?"

"Besides that," Blair quipped. "Because you're a good friend. You -- care."

Melody's face grew serious when she responded, "I do, Blair. I care about you a lot. I want you to be happy. You seem -- discontent. The last few years you've been somewhat unfocused, but more so lately."

Blair sighed. "I'm okay. Really."

"Okay, okay. Grab a seat. I'll be there in a sec."

"Thanks, hon." Leaning over, Blair gave Melody's cheek a quick kiss.

Smiling, she smacked his arm. "You're the brother I never had, Blair. I just want you to be happy," she repeated.

Blair smiled. "Yeah, I got that the first time."

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With a microwaved dinner in his belly, Blair sprawled on his platform bed, throwing out his arms in exhaustion. The preparations for his biggest book signing of the year were now complete. His trip home after the meeting, however, had been a disaster. The subway train that he usually took for the journey experienced a malfunction half a block out of the station. It had taken an hour for the passengers to be escorted off that train and onto another one, and to proceed on its way. When he'd finally made it to his stop, it was raining heavily and he had forgotten his umbrella yet again. Scurrying the five blocks to his loft apartment, he'd been thoroughly soaked, of course. It hadn't helped that while he was waiting to cross the street with his destination in sight, a bus careened by, spewing a huge wave of cold water practically over his head, thereby assuring that he was totally and completely dripping wet clear to his boxers.

Now, warm and dry, he wrapped himself in a thick fleece throw and was drifting toward sleep when the phone rang shrilly, startling him. Struggling to escape from his warm cocoon, he rushed across the large open space to where the phone rested in its cradle. The answering machine picked up after the fourth ring and a familiar voice made him hurry even faster.

"Blair, honey? It's Gracie Ellison. I know you're probably busy-"

"Gracie? Don't hang up! I'm here!"

"I'm so happy I reached you! It's been so long!"

To Blair, the woman's voice sounded strained. "What's wrong?" he demanded, skipping the pleasantries.

"Blair, sweetie, it's your Papa Martin. He's had a stroke."

"Oh, God. Is he...?" Unable to voice his thought, Blair's words dried on his tongue.

"No, honey. He's going to be okay. The doctors think he'll be able to leave the hospital in a week or so. But..."

"He needs me. I'll be home tomorrow."

"Oh, good," Gracie said, with a relieved sigh. "He does need you, Blair. Thank you."

"Thank you for letting me know."

"Have a safe trip, honey. See you soon."

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"You're where?" Melody cried. "Please, Blair, tell me this isn't happening."

"Sorry, Mel. I'm boarding in less than five minutes."

"But Blair! What about tonight?"

"I have to go! He's my family! My only family! You know he raised me after my folks died! I have to go!"

"But you said he's okay, didn't you? He's resting comfortably, right? Why can't you wait just twenty-four hours? Please! This is the biggest signing I've ever orchestrated! I have the entire press corp in attendance! I have the Dean of Anthropology from Vanderbilt giving your introduction!"

"I know, hon. I know you worked hard on the book signing, but I can't help it. I have to be there. I have to go home! He raised me. Mel, you know why I have to go. He's my Papa!" Blair bit on his lower lip. He knew he was repeating himself, and he was becoming frantic, but he couldn't help it. A feeling had grabbed hold of him and wouldn't let go. If he didn't go home today, right now, he'd never see his grandfather alive again. Cold dread spiked down his back, and he refused to budge.

"Please, Blair, twenty-four hours. That's all I'm asking. Just delay going home for twenty-four hours."

"No can do, Mel. That's my flight. I'll call you from Cascade. Bye!"

"Don't you dare hang up on me! Blair! Bla-!"

Blair shook his head in fond exasperation. He loved Melody like a sister, but Papa needed him more right now.

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Jim: Cold Facts

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"Morning, mom," James Ellison said quietly, touching a finger to his Jags baseball cap.

"James, honey, why didn't you come to dinner last night?" Gracie reached out and tentatively touched a button on her son's shirt. "Everything all right?"

"Busy," he said. "I got a call right before I was heading over. Sorry. By the time the perp was processed, it was after three am. I didn't want to wake you."

Gracie smiled at her stoic son. "I know, son. It's all right. Did the call go okay?"

"Yes. Just a domestic."

Gracie shook her head. "Shame those things happen. Imagine your loved one raising a hand to you." Reaching out, she fussed with Jim's collar. "I raised you two boys and never raised a finger to either of you once. And look what fine men you both turned out to be." She gave Jim a warm smile.

Jim nodded, almost blushing. He knew she was aching to reach out and hug him, but Jim had managed to discourage her from needlessly touching him many years ago. Sometimes he was sorry he had done that, now. Sometimes a hug from his mother was what he felt he needed. Mentally, he derided himself for his weakness, but he tempered his prickly manner with a small smile and a soft voice. "Thanks, mom."

Gracie's face brightened. "Coffee?"

"I have time for a quick cup."

Gracie waved, a smile on her face. "Then sit." She puttered around the kitchen, pouring the coffee, getting cream and sugar, and setting out a plate of freshly baked biscuits.

Jim watched his mother closely. Her heart rate was off and she seemed unsettled. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

Gracie spun on her heels and put a hand over her heart. "My goodness, Jimmy. When you do that, it always gives me pause."

Jim shrugged. He'd been plagued with hypersensitive senses since he was a child. By college, he'd managed somehow to stifle them, but after his capture in Peru while on a covert ops mission for the Army... Well, they'd come back with a vengeance during his time in the jungle, much stronger than he remembered, and without the help of one of the village shaman's, he'd be dead by now, he was sure.

Once back in civilization, after months of intense work on his part, he'd discovered the only way to function with the senses was to keep a tight control on his life and on his body. His rigid lifestyle kept him safe and sane. Jim grimaced to himself. Bad way for a detective with the Cascade Police Department to have to live, but he managed. Being stranded in the jungle for almost two years had taught him valuable lessons, and his life now was easy compared to those few short years. And Gracie, being the kind of mother that she was, knew he could sense things, but even now, she didn't know the extent of his 'affliction,' as he called it. He explained it away to himself as being what made him a good detective: his ability to read people and his great hunches.

Chewing her lip, Gracie didn't mince words when she finally said, "Blair Sandburg is back." Jim held his breath. He slowly rose and looked at his mother silently while she explained, "His grandfather is in the hospital. He suffered a stroke yesterday and Blair said he was flying in last night. I imagine he's over at Cascade Memorial right this minute if you-"

Jim had never said a word, all those years ago, about how he felt about Blair Sandburg, and he certainly refused to say anything now, and yet -- somehow, Gracie knew. If he asked, she'd explain it away with some excuse like a mother's intuition. Irritated at her insight and with his own unfulfilled desires, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he'd hung it a few minutes ago and strode to the door. "Good bye, Mother," he said formally. "Thanks for the coffee. I'm on duty in fifteen minutes." He turned his back on her unhappy face and walked away without looking back.

Jim climbed into his truck and started the engine. Pulling out onto the main highway, he didn't notice when he started to drive his vehicle in the direction of the hospital. It wasn't until he actually cruised by the building that he shook his head and growled at himself. "Get a grip, Ellison. That was ten years ago. He was a kid then, barely eighteen, and you... Well, now you're pushing forty, old man, and for all you know, he's totally changed. Besides..." Jim stopped his errant thoughts by digging his nails into his hand. Even his random musings were unacceptable, especially regarding Sandburg. Control restored, he headed toward the precinct.

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Blair: Reacquainting

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When the warm brown eyes finally opened, Blair was so relieved, he almost cried. "Papa?" he whispered, his hand reaching out to take his grandfather's. "It's Blair."

"Sonny! It's good to see you." Martin blinked slowly, and a smile broke across his face.

"How do you feel?"

"You know..." Martin grimaced. "I feel old. Really old. Otherwise, I guess I'm okay. My legs don't seem to work very well, though." He wiggled his toes. "Guess a little is better than nothing."

Blair squeezed the hand he held in his. "You're going to be fine. I'm here now, and I'll take care of you."

"Thank you, Sonny. You're a good boy."

"Are you going to keep calling me that?" Blair asked.

"What? You're my sonny-boy. Why shouldn't I call you that?" Martin raised an eyebrow. "You're not too old for me to take over my knee, you know."

Blair laughed and with tears of relief in his eyes, dropped his head onto his grandfather's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're okay."

A warm hand clumsily patted his back. "Me, too, Blair. Me, too."

A rap at the door brought Blair's head up. "Gracie!" he cried, wiping his eyes and rising.

"Blair! It's so good to see you!" Gracie held out her arms.

Blair smiled and quickly moved into the welcoming embrace. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, honey," Gracie said before looking over Blair's shoulder and with a firm tone, asked, "Martin, how long are you going to just lie around?"

Martin laughed. "As soon as that darned doctor gets his backside in here, I'm going home."

"No way!" Blair said, turning toward his grandfather after giving Gracie another quick hug. "You need to rest!"

"I can rest at home," Martin groused. "Now that you're here, I want to go home."

Gracie chuckled. "Blair, he's a stubborn old coot. I should know. I've known your papa for almost forty years, so it's no use arguing with him." Gracie put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Besides, it's true, he will rest better at home. If the doc says it's okay, you'd better just do what he wants or he'll drive you crazy."

With a shake of his head, Blair threw up his hands. "Okay. I give up. You win, Papa. If the doctor says you can go home in the morning, then I'll be happy to take you."

"Good. Now go and find that young fellow so I can get out of here." Martin crossed his arms. "Besides, I'm hungry, and hospital food will kill a man."

Laughing, Blair pointed a finger at his grandfather. "You rest while I check on when your doctor will be in, and Gracie, I'm counting on you to make sure he stays in that bed until I get back."

"I'll keep him busy, Blair," Gracie agreed. "You go on. Take your time. You look like you haven't slept at all. Go on down to the cafeteria and have a cup of coffee, and Martin and I will have a nice little chat."

You're very sweet," Blair said, leaning over to kiss Gracie's check. To his grandfather, he said, "I'm so glad you're okay, Papa."

"Me, too, Sonny. Now go on and find that doctor."

"Yes, sir." Blair left with a smile on his face, feeling much better now that his grandfather was going to be all right.

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Gracie smiled over at Blair when she stopped for the traffic signal. "How on earth did you get Martin to agree to stay in the hospital for a few more days?"

Blair grinned. "I bribed him."

"Oh?"

Smiling, Blair admitted, "Not really. It was the doctor. He told Papa that he was refusing to release him until his blood pressure was under control. I think that was enough to spur him into resting and taking the medication that the doctor prescribed without complaining. He hates being laid up like this, but I assured him that I'd be busy for the next few days getting the house ready for him for when he comes home. When I explained it to him, he agreed."

"You always did have that man wrapped around your little finger, Blair. Nobody else would have been able to get Martin to agree to rest and to take his medication. He loves you very much." Gracie pulled up in front of the Cascade Precinct and smiled. "I need to run a quick errand. Come along."

"I'll just wait here, if you don't mind."

Gracie climbed out but before shutting the door, she said sweetly, "I do mind. Come along." She gave Blair a warm smile before she added, "...and put a quarter in the meter. No sense getting a twenty-five dollar ticket for a ten minute trip."

With a tired sigh, Blair did as asked. He would have preferred to catch a catnap while he waited, but if Gracie needed him for some reason, he was willing to go along. After all, she was very kind to him and to his grandfather. He fished the coin from his pocket and slipped it into the meter before trotting to catch up with Gracie who waited at the building's main door. Once inside, and with visitors' passes clipped to their shirts, Gracie led the way to the sixth floor. When Gracie exited the elevator, Blair followed while she confidently walked across the hallway and through the double doors into the Major Crime bullpen, stopping at one of the desks.

"Jim, you remember Blair Sandburg, don't you?" Gracie said innocently, waving a hand at her companion.

Blair glanced at the handsome police officer. He immediately remembered Gracie's oldest son from years ago. With a smile and a nod, Blair held out his hand. "Oh, hi... It's Detective Ellison, isn't it?"

Jim slowly rose, ignoring the outstretched hand. "Yes... Detective... Right..."

"I haven't seen you in what? Ten years?" Blair chatted. "You look great!" Giving the man a friendly smile, Blair waited patiently until Jim finally took his hand and gave it a strong shake. He saw the guarded look in Jim's eyes, and he briefly wondered why before he was distracted by Jim and Gracie's conversation.

"What are you doing here, Mom?" Jim asked, his gaze flicking over Blair before turning to his mother.

Gracie laughed lightly. "I have something I need you to do, son."

Jim's face was emotionless when he asked, "What is it?"

Gracie reached out and put a hand on Jim's arm. "I've asked Mrs. Higginson to cook dinner for Blair and Martin, but I need somebody to run interference. You know how Mrs. Higginson is. If I let her deliver the food, she'll trap the fellas in their own house and talk them to death. It will take hours for her to leave, and Martin needs his rest. I want you to do this for me."

Jim shook his head. "That won't work for me. I have a job and I-"

"James," Gracie said firmly but quietly, "I've made the arrangements. I really need you to do this for me. It's important to me, and if you would help, it would mean a lot to me, and to Martin. Please."

Blair remained silent, feeling like he should protest about plans being made for him and his grandfather without his input, but Gracie seemed so determined to help that he felt like a heel for speaking up. For appearance sake, he finally muttered, "It's really too much."

"Nonsense," Gracie responded. "Martin needs to eat, and so do you. You're going to be busy enough taking care of him without having to worry about dinner every night. Jim can deliver the food." Looking determined, Gracie smiled at Jim, who gave a curt nod of reluctant acceptance. "Thank you, son. She'll start cooking when Martin is released from the hospital and assures me that you may pick up the food every evening by five." With a loving smile, she added, "I'll let you get back to work, Jimmy. Blair needs to get some sleep. He sat up with Martin for hours, you know."

Jim again nodded curtly. Blair felt disconcerted for a moment, torn between accepting the offer and outright refusing because of Jim's obvious unhappiness at being put in this position. But he really wasn't sure just how much work it would be for him to take care of his grandfather, and knowing that he was more than likely a bit out of his element taking care of an elderly man, he reluctantly decided it was easier to let Gracie do this. She seemed determined, and he wasn't in the mood for a scene, especially in the middle of the police precinct. And until he could adequately assess his and his grandfather's situation, it would be a big help.

"Thank you, Gracie. As long as Jim doesn't mind..." He smiled wanly and shuffled his feet. "I appreciate it."

"Good. It's settled. Thank you, Jimmy." With a nod of approval at her son, Gracie waved Blair toward the elevator. "Let's get you home, young man."

"Thank you, Detective." Blair gave Jim an apologetic smile and with a shrug, followed Gracie to her car.

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Jim: Unwelcome Flashback

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Jim Ellison punched the keys on his computer as if they had offended him in some manner. His lips were tightly pursed and his eyes were narrowed into slits. His head ached and his temper flared.

"She always does that to me," he muttered, ignoring the wary looks that his fellow workers flashed his way. What the hell, they already thought he was nuts. He continued to rant very softly to himself. "Why do I let her? Because she's my mother, for God's sake. She knows which buttons to push." Pounding the keys for another minute, Jim again spoke quietly. "How would she know?" With a derisive snort, he added, "Because she has that mother radar. They're born with it. They know everything, even stuff that nobody should know. I'm so fucked."

"Detective!"

Jim's head popped up. "Sir?" he answered, giving his captain a blank look.

"Is there a problem, Detective?" Simon Banks asked.

"No, sir. I'm good."

"Well, then go and -- detect. Sitting here and making your co-workers uncomfortable isn't what the city pays you for now, is it?"

"No, sir." Jim rose and after grabbing his jacket, he saluted his boss. "Permission to leave, sir," he said formally.

Simon snorted with amusement. "Your most recent case was put to bed last evening, Jim, so get the hell out of here. You have a few days' leave you need to use before the first of the month, so consider yourself on vacation for the rest of the week. Go and enjoy yourself for a change."

Jim started to protest, but instead, he gave his friend a quick nod. Maybe if he left town for a few days, he could weasel out of delivering the food to Sandburg that his mother had finagled him into doing. "Yes, Captain."

On the elevator ride down to the parking garage, Jim found his thoughts drawn back to Blair. He was not surprised that Sandburg actually looked better now than he had ten years ago. Back then, he was a kid. Now he was a man, an incredibly sexy, almost -- beautiful man. The look in those wide blue eyes was now more mature, and that made him even more alluring. His body... Jim smiled at himself. Blair's build was perfect to Jim's taste. He was compact and not too thin, with wide shoulders and a strong, masculine face. Jim was immediately drawn to "this" Blair, even more so than he had been when he fell in love with a much younger Sandburg, back when he was a college student studying anthropology. But that was a lifetime ago, when he was a different man. Now...

Now he was walking the edge, barely holding it together. His hyperactive senses seemed to be getting worse the older he got. It wouldn't be long before he screwed up royally in the line of duty, and Simon, who had been covering for Jim for a while now, would have no choice but to put him out on medical leave.

The doors slid open and Jim walked quickly to his truck, firmly pushing thoughts of Blair Sandburg out of his mind. He had more important things to do with his next few days off. Things like -- laundry, and cleaning, and an oil change for his truck, and repairing that leaking toilet, and putting a new filter on the furnace. All sorts of necessary chores that didn't leave him any time to linger over silly thoughts about a man he could never have. A man who would never want somebody -- damaged like James Ellison, semi-balding, almost forty, with senses that were abnormal, and-

"Fuck," Jim muttered, jamming his keys into the palm of his hand. "Ouch, damn it!" If he couldn't wipe Sandburg from his brain with his own perseverance, he'd wipe Sandburg from his brain with pain and exhaustion. A good full body workout and a good full two days of chores would take care of his errant thoughts. He was sure of it.

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Blair: Dream Within Reach

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Blair lightly knocked on the doorframe of the busy classroom. When Gracie looked up, Blair waved. "Hey."

"Blair! Come in! You're right on time." Gracie smiled as she walked toward him, and with a wave toward the children, added, "The class is very excited that you've come to talk to us. I've told the children about a few of your journeys and that you've been invited to give a talk about some of your expeditions." Blair stood next to Gracie while she turned to the class and said, "This is Dr. Blair Sandburg. He's a doctor of anthropology. Now who can tell us what anthropology is?" Blair smiled at several students who enthusiastically raised their hands. Gracie said, "Charles?"

"It's something about -- stars and planets and outer space," the boy answered.

Gracie smiled. "That's astronomy, Charles, but thank you for trying. Cindy?"

"My older brother studies that at college. I think it means learning about people. How they built stuff, and how they talked, and digging up bones, too."

"Good job, Cindy. That's correct. Anthropology is the study of human beings, how they lived together, what kind of language they spoke, what holidays they celebrated, and anything else relating to their lives." Gracie smiled at Blair. "Dr. Sandburg is going to show you some really great pictures from his journey up the Amazon, and then we're going to do an art project. How does that sound?"

The class cheered while Blair smiled, and launched into his simple lecture. Afterward, he spent two happy hours drawing, painting, and generally making a mess on himself while sitting in the middle of a table of six children whose ages ranged from six to eight. Talking in the doorway with Gracie after the conclusion of the art class, Blair stood in the doorway and smiled.

"Thanks, Gracie. That was great! The kids were a lot of fun. I needed something to take my mind off Papa."

Gracie smiled and, with a hand on Blair's shoulder, she said, "I need an assistant for a few months until the Christmas break. Do you want to give me a hand? You are staying for a while, aren't you?"

Blair slowly nodded. "Yeah, I'm staying -- for a while, at least. I can work from my laptop, and I have somebody looking after my apartment." Glancing back into the classroom, he added, "I'd love to help. When do you want me to start?"

"How about on Monday? That will give you a few days to get Martin settled and things working smoothly at home." Gracie turned to the classroom and called, "Nathan Rafe, I think you'd better clean up your place, and stop bothering your brother."

Blair's eyes widened when the name hit home. He glanced at the brown-haired boy who immediately looked contrite at his actions. "Nathan Rafe?" Blair said softly.

Gracie nodded. "Yes. And that's his older brother in the red-striped shirt, Andrew. You didn't know Brian was back?" Speechless, Blair shook his head. "Becky and Brian split up. Brian brought the boys back to Cascade and they've moved in with his parents. They're helping him raise them."

"Oh," Blair answered. "I didn't know... Brian's back?"

Gracie looked intently at Blair. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Blair gave himself an internal shake. "Yeah, I'm fine." He leaned over and gave her a quick peck. "I have to run. I have a thousand chores before I pick up Papa in the morning. Thanks, again."

"Bye, Blair. And thank you!"

"Sure. Any time."

Blair quickly made his way out of the school and over to his car. He stopped for a second to glance at the vehicle that his grandfather had lovingly stored in the garage since he'd left for the big city ten years ago. The '67 green Volvo had been his first car. His Papa had helped him pick it out, and they'd spent several months tinkering in the garage through a bitterly cold winter during his junior year in high school. (He graduated early, at sixteen.) Since he had been only fifteen that year, and as yet unable to drive, they'd taken their time putting the little import back into good condition. Looking at the car always made Blair smile when he remembered those days spent together.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Blair started the engine but didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes. Brian Rafe was in Cascade. His best friend from high school. And the man he'd loved since they first met the same year he got the Volvo.

"He's back!" Blair thought. "Oh, God... He's divorced! Maybe now... I've waited all these years, hoping... Maybe it's finally time for me to have what I want." Pulling carefully into traffic, Blair headed toward home, his thoughts full of Brian Rafe.

--------------------------------

Changing into blue jeans, a blue and red plaid flannel shirt over a red t-shirt, and sneakers, Blair stopped in the kitchen where Martin was reading the Sunday paper, which he had spread out over the entire surface.

"Are you sure?" Blair asked.

Martin glanced up at his grandson over his glasses. "How many times are you going to ask me that, Sonny?"

Blair shrugged. "Don't know. Until I feel like it's okay, I guess."

Martin chuckled, and pushed back from the table so that he could maneuver the wheelchair until he was facing Blair. "It's okay, Blair. I'm fine. You fed me breakfast. Lunch is in the fridge. I've taken my medicine. I can get to the bathroom by myself." Slapping his hand down on the handle of his chair, he groused, "You know this chair is just to give me a break. I really don't need it-"

"Promise me you'll stay in it unless you need to pee!" Blair ran a hand through his long hair. "See. That's exactly why I don't want to go! The second I leave, you'll be dancing around the living room!"

Martin laughed. "Sonny, I promise. Go to the picnic! Everybody wants to see you, and there is absolutely no reason for me to have a full-time babysitter." Looking unhappy, he added, "It makes me feel like I'm on my last leg."

Blair's face paled and he hunkered down in front of his grandfather. "No! I'm sorry, but... I don't want you to feel like I'm treating you like a helpless patient, but I'm worried about you. You're known to be stubborn, and I just don't want..." Blair looked away, chewing on his lower lip.

Martin's hand touched his shoulder. "What don't you want, Sonny?" he asked softly.

Blair's gaze met Martin's. "Papa, I don't want to lose you," he said just as softly. "I love you."

Martin's face broke into a smile. "And I love you. I feel fine. I'm going to sit right here and read my paper. Then I'm going to have my lunch and take a little nap."

Rising, Blair finally acquiesced. "Okay, I'll go. This will be our trial run to see if you do what you're supposed to, because if you don't..." Blair wagged a finger into his grandfather's face.

"Give me a hug, Sonny, then get the heck out of here. And don't forget to stop over at the grocery store and grab something to put on the pot luck table."

Blair smiled. Leaning down, he hugged his grandfather. "I'm glad to see you," he whispered, "and I'm so happy you're okay."

Patting Blair's back, Martin said, "Me too, Blair. Me too.

----------------------------

"Blair? Oh my God! Blair!"

At the sound of the rich voice, Blair's head swiveled and his eyes widened. A smile crossed his face as Brian Rafe walked toward him, each of his hands holding onto one of his children's. "Brian!"

Dropping the boys' hands, Brian reached out and carefully took the large white bakery box from Blair's hands. After he set the box down on the nearest picnic table, he threw his arms around Blair and hugged him tightly. Blair's arms circled Brian's shoulders and he held on, a smile plastered on his face. Both men patted each other's backs before they finally released each other, laughing.

"It's so good to see you!" Blair cried. "I didn't even know you were back in Cascade until Gracie told me!"

Brian nodded happily. "You look great! I'm glad you're home!" Glancing down, he added, "These are my boys. This is Nate -- Nathan, " Brian said, touching the younger boy's shoulder, "and this is Andrew. Not Andy, but Andrew, please."

"Hello, fellas," Blair said, laughing and holding out his hand. "Remember me from Miss Gracie's class? I'm an old friend of your dad's."

After the children shook hands and were sent off to play on the swings, Brian grabbed Blair's shoulder. "You look great!" he repeated. "How's your granddad? I was really sorry to hear about his stroke. We spent many happy times at your Papa's house, as I remember."

"Yes, we did." Blair smiled as they walked over to the tables where the church group who had organized the picnic was gathered, remembering his childhood days with Brian as his best friend. He'd always hoped for more, but... Setting down the box of cookies that Blair had retrieved, he smiled and greeted several old friends. Fidgeting behind Blair while he spoke to his friends, Brian finally grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

"Your boys are great. Did they tell you I came to school and we did a project together?" Blair asked.

"Yes, they came home with paint in their hair and pictures for the fridge. When they kept talking about Dr. Blair, it took me a few minutes and a phone call or two to find out that you were back." Brian smiled warmly. "I've missed you."

Blair smiled in return. "Me, too."

"So what can I do to help?"

"With what?"

"With Martin."

"Really?"

"Sure. That's what friends are for. Just tell me what you need me to do."

Blair glanced sideways at Brian. The man was as gorgeous as he remembered. Soft brown hair stylishly cut. Jeans that fit just so. A pressed flannel shirt and spotless sneakers. Blair chuckled quietly.

"What?" Brian asked.

"You still look -- perfect."

Laughing, Brian shook his head in fond exasperation. "And you're still the handsomest guy I've ever known."

Blair blushed. "Thanks. So, do you have a truck?"

Brian laughed. "Made you blush, didn't I? I still got it." He chuckled before he nodded. "Yes, I have a truck. Why?"

Blair stopped and crossed his arms, giving Brian a knowing grin. "Can you actually haul things in the truck, or don't you want it to get dirty?"

"Geez, Blair, I'm not that bad!" At Blair's raised eyebrow, he laughed again. "Okay, but for you... I can always wash it afterward. What do you need?"

"Some lumber, a few bags of cement. I want to build a wheelchair ramp for Papa, and fix some of the door thresholds through the house so he can use the wheelchair instead of straining himself walking around. Maybe put some handrails up in the bathroom. That sort of thing. His doctor says the more he keeps off his feet, the better."

"I'd be happy to give you a hand. I'll have you know that I remodeled my own house when I lived in Portland. I like working with my hands." Brian gave Blair a silly grin and waggled his fingers. "We'll get together a few afternoons this week, and knock it out. What do you say?"

"I say -- thanks, Bri. You're a great friend."

Brian smiled and wrapped an arm around Blair's neck, giving him a quick hug. "You too, bro. You, too. Come on, let's go and push the kids on the swings for a bit before we grab something to eat. I'm starving!"

With a happy grin, Blair followed his friend.

----------------------------

Blair was still smiling when he walked down the hallway to open the front door. The afternoon had been fun. Brian and his boys had come over and the group spent several hours pounding nails, sawing wood, laughing and drinking sodas while Martin directed the building of the wheelchair ramp leading from the back door to the driveway. When the doorbell rang again, Blair roused himself from his reverie and hurried to open the door.

"Detective Ellison, come in." Blair stood aside and waved the man in.

"Thanks," Ellison muttered, turning sideways to slip by Blair while balancing the cardboard box.

"Take it back through to the kitchen. It's-"

"I remember where the kitchen is, Sandburg," Jim groused.

"Oh, yeah. Right. I forgot. But you haven't been here for a long time, have you?"

"Came to help Mr. Sandburg a few years ago when he needed his alarm system upgraded."

"You did? He never said. Thanks." Blair followed Jim into the kitchen.

Martin glanced up from his novel. "Jimmy! Come in. How are you?"

"Fine, sir." Jim placed the box onto the table, and stepped back.

"Good, good," Martin said. "And your mother?"

"She's good, sir."

"Tell her I said hello."

"Yes, sir."

"Jimmy, you've known me for your entire life. Why don't you call me Martin?"

"Yes, sir," Jim said stiffly, making Martin chuckle.

"What did you bring us?" Martin asked, peering into the box.

Jim moved forward and started to remove the dishes while Blair retrieved plates from the cupboard. "Not sure, sir... Martin. Some sort of casserole. Tuna, maybe. A salad. Looks like fruit -- something."

Blair peered into the largest dish. "Smells... okay." Wrinkling his nose, he shook his head. "Let's hope it's edible," he muttered.

Martin smiled. "It will be fine," he said, reaching for the salad.

Blair whisked the salad away. "Hang on. It has way too much dressing for you, Papa. It's full of salt."

"What do you want me to eat?" Martin complained. "I'm hungry!"

"One spoonful," Blair warned. "And just a bit of that casserole. I forgot about the salt. I'll have to tell Mrs. Higginson no salt. You know the doctor said you had to limit your intake. This dinner is a heart attack waiting to happen! Do you want to end up back in the hospital?"

Martin sighed. "Of course not." He took a small helping of each dish. "Jimmy, grab a plate and join us. There's way too much here, especially if my grandson is only allowing me to eat barely anything at all. I'll starve for sure."

"Ah... Thanks. No. I have some... things to do." Jim started to back up.

Blair held out a plate. "Detective, please, have something to eat."

"No, thanks. Good night." Jim turned and without looking back, raced from the house, leaving Blair stunned.

"What the heck?" Blair said, confused. "Was it something I said?"

Martin looked at Blair quizzically, almost as if he knew something about Jim that Blair didn't know, and wasn't sure if he should even say more. After studying Blair for a few moments, Martin said, "No, Sonny. He's just a quiet kind of guy. Besides... Get me a glass of water, will you, please?"

"Sure, Papa," Blair answered. "And don't you dare eat any more of that casserole!" Blair whisked the dish from the table and placed it into the sink. "Here. Have a small helping of this. Looks something like, "Blair sniffed lightly, "peach cobbler."

"You're going to kill me yet," Martin whined.

"Not if I can help it," Blair responded, patting his grandfather's arm. "If you're still hungry, I can fix you a nice hot bowl of oatmeal. Plain, with skim milk."

Martin groaned.

------------------------------

Jim: Hiding in Plain Sight

------------------------------

"I can't do this!" Jim said aloud the second he shut the door behind him. He leaned on the green wood and took a deep breath. "It's not fair! How can I see him every day and not want- Oh, shit!" Jim clenched his fists and glanced around his loft apartment.

It was open and airy, and pretty darned empty. He had one sofa, one chair and a television in his living room. The dining area held a metal table and four chairs. The small storage room under the stairs held a futon and one small dresser, while his own bedroom that occupied the loft's second floor was furnished with a king-size bed, a double dresser and a wooden chair. Otherwise, the loft was devoid of any personal touches. There were no pictures on the wall, no potted plants brightening up the decor, and no books on the non-existent bookshelves. Nothing that showed the personality of the man who had occupied the dwelling for the past eight years.

Jim had convinced himself that this is how he liked to live. Simple and uncluttered. Untethered by anybody or anything. Opening the old fridge, he extracted a beer and twisted the top, tossing the cap into the sink from across the room.

"Two points for me," he muttered harshly when the cap managed to stay in the sink. "Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And why am I talking to myself? Get a grip, Ellison, before you really go nuts. Ha! I am nuts! I'm fucking nuts. I'm in love with a man who doesn't even know I exist, and have been for ten years! What a schmuck!"

Draining the bottle, Jim slapped the empty down on the counter and went to take a shower. While he shampooed his hair, his thoughts again drifted back to Sandburg.

Why doesn't he just go home? You know why. His grandfather, his only family, needs him. But I don't want to see him every day! But I do. I'm driving myself completely nuts now. God help me, but I do... I want to see him. Be near him. Talk to him. But for God's sake, why can't I speak like an intelligent person when he's around? I stutter and sputter and stumble over simple words. Yeah, like my own name.

Jim snorted at his own ridiculousness, then he rinsed the shampoo from his eyes. Grabbing soap, he washed quickly. After drying himself, he trotted up the stairs and dressed in clean sweats for sleeping before going back down. Flopping down in front of the television, he ate a frozen dinner that he nuked and drank a second bottle of beer. Dinner eaten, he didn't bother getting up to throw out the plastic container but slipped it onto the coffee table, along with the empty beer bottle, and lay down. With the television flickering in the darkened room, he drifted off to sleep with images of Blair Sandburg coloring his dreams.

--------------------------

When he pulled up in front of Martin Sandburg's house, Jim almost drove away without stopping. He didn't see anyone but he could hear voices from behind the house. Three men were talking and laughing, along with two children, both boys. Listening for a moment, Jim immediately recognized the men's voices. He heard Martin directing the children on some kind of errand, and he heard Blair and -- Brian Rafe ribbing each other. Blair and Brian were laughing, and Jim could hear the happiness in Blair's tone.

Jim glanced at the box on the seat beside him. Yet another one of Mrs. Higginson's dinners, and this one smelled even worse than the others. If that's possible, Jim thought wryly. The woman was an awful cook, and Jim felt badly for Blair and Martin having to eat the food, which was unimaginative and -- plain unappealing to Jim's sensitive nose.

Because he'd promised his mother, he gave a tired sigh. Opening the door, he extracted the cardboard box and carefully walked to the front door. He stood there for a moment before he shrugged and walked around the house to the back.

Martin saw Jim almost immediately and called out, "Jim! Come right on over here and have a soda with the boys."

Jim nodded in greeting. "I brought dinner," he said unnecessarily.

Blair walked over to Jim with a warm smile on his face. "Hi, Jim! You know Brian Rafe, don't you? And these are his boys, Nathan and Andrew."

Jim again nodded. Brian said hello and encouraged his sons to greet the newcomer also. Jim stood uncomfortably for a few moments before Blair took the box from his arms.

"Come on in, Jim." Blair cocked his head in the direction of the back door.

"Hey, Blair," Brian interrupted, "the boys and I need to get going. Mom has dinner ready at six and I think we all need a shower before we eat."

"Oh, okay, Bri. I'll walk you to your car." Blair shifted the box in his arms.

Jim moved forward, retrieving the box before Blair spilled the contents. "Go. I'll take this in."

"Thanks, man." Blair flashed Jim a warm smile before he followed Brian and the children.

Jim watched until the men disappeared from view before he turned to Martin. "Dinner," Jim said.

"Yes, Jimmy, I know that. Let's go inside." Martin maneuvered his wheelchair into the house on the new ramp that Blair and Brian had just finished. He wheeled himself through the kitchen and started to reach for dishes from the lower cupboard.

"Let me do that," Jim said, placing the box of food on the kitchen table. He set the table for two and started to remove the dishes from the box.

"Jimmy, get yourself a plate and eat with us," Martin invited.

"I -- can't. Thank you, though."

"Why not? There's plenty here, even if Mrs. Higginson's meals aren't very -- appetizing."

"I have to go. I'm on duty in a bit, and I have some other errands to run." Jim glanced toward the door, hoping for a glimpse of Blair before he had to leave. As he turned to go, Blair bounced through the back door, hair flying and face flushed.

"Are you eating dinner with us?" Blair asked.

Jim shook his head. "No, thanks."

Blair looked nonplussed when he demanded, "Why not?"

"I... Because-" Jim shrugged. "I have to go. Good night." Then he practically ran from the kitchen, out the back door and to his truck. Climbing in, his hands tightly clenched the steering wheel. "Good going, idiot. Now he thinks I'm some kind of -- psycho! Why do I get so damned anxious around him? Get a grip!" he berated himself. "No wonder he's never even looked at you. No wonder he likes Rafe, who's all cool and neat and knows just what to say." Dropping his forehead to the steering wheel, Jim sighed. He shook his head before he sat up straight and his mouth dropped open. "Well, damn. That's it! That's what I'll do!" With a small smile, Jim started his truck and headed toward the nearest grocery store. That's what he'd do. He'd cook for Blair... He'd make a fine meal and he'd replace his food with Mrs. Higginson's -- and he wouldn't tell a soul. It would be his contribution, his little secret. It would make Blair's life -- nicer, and he would feel really good knowing that Blair, and Martin also, would finally have a good meal to look forward to each evening. He'd plan it well enough to make sure he had enough meals to deliver to get him through the nights when he had to work, and he'd continue to deliver the food as agreed. After all, that's what his mother wanted. Mind made up, Jim put his plan into action.

-----------------------------

Blair: On Display

-----------------------------

Answering the door on a cool, clear Sunday afternoon, Blair was surprised to see Mrs. Higginson standing there. "Mrs. H? What...?"

"Afternoon, Blair," she said, practically pushing him aside to enter. "I've brought a few -- friends over for afternoon tea."

Blair's gaze swept over the small group gathered on his front porch. Six women, all about his age and all smiling at him like a school of piranha looking for a tasty meal -- or at least, that's how he felt looking from one to the other. Each lady held a dish, bowl or plastic container in her hands. Still somewhat bemused, Blair forgot his manners and stared, not quite sure what was actually happening.

"Sonny, invite the ladies in!" Martin tugged on Blair's sleeve, bringing him out of his zone.

"Ah, sorry," Blair mumbled to Martin before turning to the women. "Please, come in." He stepped aside and waited while the ladies swept by him, each one smiling and exchanging hellos. The scent of their perfumes tickled his nose, and he had to turn his head, put a quick hand over his mouth, and sneeze. Once he'd closed the door, Mrs. Higginson snagged his sleeve and dragged him through the guests, introducing each one quite fully, explaining their age, marital status, education, and current job. He smiled and shook hands with all of them. A quick glance at his grandfather left him puzzled, though. Martin sat in his chair, chuckling and shaking his head, a very amused look on his face. But Blair didn't get a chance to ask his grandfather about his reaction to the uninvited guests because for the next two hours, he was kept busy by Mrs. Higginson boiling water, finding cups, making tea, and setting out what the ladies had carried in.

Each of the prospective girlfriends (Blair finally put two and two together, much to his horrified consternation) had brought an offering. Gooey brownies, crunchy chocolate chip/walnut cookies, rich banana pudding covered with vanilla wafers, soft white angel food cake with creamy whipped cream, thick, rich strawberry cheesecake. Plied with each treat by the woman who had made it, Blair was feeling sick from all the sugar by the time Mrs. Higginson had determined that the meet and greet was over. He was also feeling sick from having to field each bite of the desserts that Martin sneaked, stole and snagged each time his back was turned. By the time the last woman had left (each kissing his cheek uninvited), he had an upset stomach and a headache.

Shutting the door, Blair leaned against it and sighed deeply. "What the hell was that?" he blurted out. Martin just laughed, and licked whipped cream from his finger. Blair looked at him in pure astonishment. "You were okay with that... uninvited invasion?"

Martin shrugged. "Agnes has a good heart, Sonny. And it was darned entertaining. Not to mention quite tasty."

With an exasperated sigh and a rueful smile, Blair said, "Yeah, you're right." He chuckled. "It was -- okay, I guess. Nice to see you enjoying yourself. Guess Mrs. H thought you needed some fattening up."

Martin shook his head. "They didn't come to see me, Blair. They came to see you."

Embarrassed and refusing to admit what he knew was the reason for the visit, he shook his head. "They wanted to cheer you up."

Snorting with amusement, Martin said, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Blair looked blank. "Ah, no. Other than I'd better clean up before every insect in a radius of ten blocks finds all this sugar!"

After giving Blair a knowing look, Martin nodded. "I'll load the dishwasher."

-----------------------------

"Mrs. H?" Blair almost squeaked. It was a bad dream, he thought. I'm dreaming. Didn't this just happen last Sunday, only with -- gals?

"Afternoon, Blair. I've brought some -- friends for afternoon tea."

In a replay of last Sunday's visit, Mrs. Higginson barged in, but this time she'd brought along six guys! He wondered how transparent he had been during last week's fiasco, and he wondered how much his Papa had seen, even though he thought he had been calm and pleasant through the visit. Then he realized what he'd done. He hadn't called any of the prospects that Mrs. Higginson had presented, and when the ladies had compared notes (women being more intuitive than men, apparently) they'd decided that Blair wasn't interested in the women. So the logical conclusion was that Blair was interested in men.

When the thought hit home, Blair's face flushed a deep red and he glanced over at his grandfather, who didn't seemed the least bit phased by Mrs. H's bold entrance, nor did he seem puzzled or concerned about the fact that she'd brought male guests this time. Blair's face felt hot and his mouth dried up. He'd never had the courage to tell Martin his secret, and now he was afraid it would be apparent, but Martin, the consummate host, was directing the men on where to put the treats they'd brought and seemed oblivious as to the reason for the visit. He was just enjoying the company.

"Blair!" Martin's voice brought him back to reality. He spun on his heels and went to join the guests.

---------------------------

Jim: Flying Under the Radar

---------------------------

"Jimmy! Come right in! What delightful treats have you brought tonight?" Martin grinned.

Jim nodded. "Evening, Mr.... Martin." He made his way to the dining table and automatically started to set the table for two.

Martin smiled and waved toward the door. "Blair's out. Join me for dinner."

Jim's hand stopped in midair, plate in hand. "I -- can't. Thanks anyway."

Martin pushed his chair forward until he was close enough to touch Jim's arm. "Please stay for dinner, James," he asked quietly. "I'd appreciate the company."

With a small smile and a nod, Jim placed the plate on the table and said, "Okay."

Martin clapped his hands in delight. "Good! I'm starving! What's for dinner?"

"Baked halibut, sautéed snap peas and shallots, fresh new red potatoes, and a vanilla custard for dessert." When Martin's knowing gaze met Jim's, Jim blushed. He hadn't even taken the covers from any of the dishes but yet he revealed that he knew what each held. He knew that Martin knew he'd either peeked at somebody else's food -- or he had some ability to smell through glass and plastic. True, the smells were great, but to identify each dish so perfectly, that was just a bit -- odd.

"You want a glass of water with dinner?" Jim asked, trying to deflect any questions that Martin might have.

With a smile, Martin nodded. Jim knew he was intently examining him for a long minute before he reached over and removed the lids from the casserole dishes and the tightly closed top from the baked fish. The lid on the storage container holding the custard was still snapped shut. Jim grimaced and wondered just how much he had aroused Martin's suspicions on how he could have so easily identified the contents of each dish, but Martin didn't say anything else. He just held out his plate and waited patiently while Jim dished out a nice portion of each item.

Fork in hand, Martin smiled. "Mrs. Higginson has certainly improved the last week! At first, the meals were -- really bad!" He laughed. "But now, this food is gourmet quality! And I can't believe that she makes all of this with no salt!" Taking a few bites, he sighed contentedly. "Wonderful," he murmured. "Amazing what fresh herbs can do to a well-prepared dish. Isn't it, Jim?" he added, his tone almost demanding an answer.

Jim blushed again and ate his meal quietly, but he did nod in agreement. He flashed back to the tuna and egg casserole with the stewed canned tomatoes that was sitting at home in his chest freezer. He knew he couldn't eat it, but he felt guilty throwing away the food that Mrs. Higginson prepared, so he froze each dinner, noting the date and contents, and wondered what in the hell he was going to do with the awful meals.

Dragging his thoughts back to his host, he smiled. "How are you feeling, Martin?"

"I'm well, thank the Lord. I had my doubts for a while, there, but so far, so good. Thanks for asking. And thanks for keeping me company. Blair's over at the school's Halloween party. I expect you'll be joining your mother after dinner. She makes a heck of a good sherbet punch."

"No, sir. I'm not..." Jim cleared his throat. "I'm not good with crowds."

"Ah, yes. I remember," Martin responded, but then fell silent.

Jim glanced sideways at Martin, realizing that the man's innocent demeanor hid a quick mind and a great sense of intuition. He'd known Jim since he was born, so if Jim had any doubts about Martin's knowledge of his sensitive senses, the man's easy manner and simple words contradicted that thought. Jim wasn't surprised that Martin accepted his strange condition while not demanding explanations because Martin was the sort who believed in live and let live. He was a good neighbor, and a good man, and Jim admired him.

"I'll clean up," Jim said, rising.

Martin smiled. As usual, he offered, "I'll load the dishwasher."

Together they worked until the dishes were done before they moved to the porch. Martin sat in his wheelchair while Jim sat in a wooden porch chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. He felt at ease on the Sandburg porch, and his senses liked Martin's companionship.

"Are you allowed to drink?" Jim asked, glancing over at Martin while he took a swig of his beer.

"No," Martin admitted, sipping his own brew.

"Nice night."

"Yes, it is."

The men fell silent and sat in the cooling evening, hidden in their seats in the shadows cast by the hedges growing along the porch. Content in the quiet, they enjoyed the clear star-studded sky and quiet neighborhood. When a shiny, new Ford pickup pulled up and parked at the curb in front of the house, Jim froze, holding his breath. His vision involuntarily tunneled and he focused on the passengers. Blair and Brian Rafe were in the cab, laughing and talking quietly. In the truck's secondary seat, Rafe's two boys slept, their disheveled Halloween costumes proving the party's success. Jim could smell the scent of the candy they had eaten, the grease paint that had been smeared on their faces, and the vinyl of their costumes.

Rafe jumped from the driver's seat and met Blair on the sidewalk. Blair stopped and turned toward Rafe, who leaned in and whispered something, making Blair laugh. The melodious sound tickled Jim's ears, making his body tingle. Rafe's arm slipped over Blair's shoulder and when their foreheads touched, Jim heard Blair's sigh of contentment. The men separated after a few seconds and from the way they looked at each other, Jim was sure they were going to kiss.

This was not something he wanted to see! Jim rose quickly, his heart in his throat. Thankfully, Rafe pulled back and the men turned to look up at the house. Martin's soft voice cut through the still night, his words very quiet, so quiet that only a man with heightened hearing could hear.

"I'm sorry, son."

Jim didn't respond to Martin's intuitive remark, but slipped through the house and out the back door. Skirting the side of the house, he waited in the shadows until Rafe and Blair bid each other good night. Blair then trotted up the front walk, his step light and happy. When he climbed the stairs and saw his grandfather sitting in the shadows, he started to berate Martin for exposing himself to the night air without a jacket. Jim grimaced. He hadn't considered Martin's health while he sat and enjoyed the man's company, and now he felt bad for not doing his best for Blair's family. Even if Blair didn't usually notice him, he still loved Blair with everything he possessed. He would give his life for Blair in a second, he knew. But he would rather give his heart to the man...

When he refocused back on the porch, he realized that Blair and Martin had gone inside. Invading the home's privacy, Jim listened until he found the voice he loved. Blair was in the kitchen, telling Martin that he was making hot tea for both of them. Now that the coast was clear, Jim raced from his hiding spot, across the lawn, and to his truck parked across the street. Knowing that Blair's heart was otherwise engaged, but still wanting to make things pleasant for his secret love, Jim went home to plan the next week's meals.

-----------------------------

Blair: Seeing Through Closed Eyes

-----------------------------

"Jim!" Blair said quietly. "Come in, please."

"Something wrong?" Mimicking Blair's careful step, Jim carried the box of food to the counter and set it down.

"No, no. Papa's asleep, that's all. He had kind of a rough night last night, and I finally got him to nap about half an hour ago."

"Oh. I hope he's okay."

Blair dismissively waved a hand. "Yeah, he's fine. He just overdoes it sometimes and then he has trouble sleeping. Yesterday, he was tired of being cooped up so I took him over to the school for morning session. He played with the kids for hours, but it wore him out." Blair smiled with remembrance. "Then last night he couldn't sleep."

"He's a good man," Jim said simply.

"Yeah, he is," Blair agreed, giving Jim a warm smile. "So... Let's eat." He set out two plates and a napkin at each place.

"I -- can't. Really." Jim started to walk backwards toward the door.

Blair looked directly into Jim's eyes and said, "I'd really like it if you stayed and had dinner with me." He gave Jim his most innocent, pleading look.

Jim gulped noisily. "Okay," he muttered. "Thanks."

Grinning broadly, Blair nodded happily. "Good! You and I haven't had a chance to talk since I got back in town. You're always running off. I'm glad you're staying." Seeing Jim's expression of discomfort, Blair reached out a hand and touched his arm. "I really need some company tonight. It's been a bit hard taking care of Papa twenty-four/seven."

Jim smiled. "I'd like to talk as well."

"Cool. Beer?"

"I'm on duty in two hours, so soda for me, please."

"Soda it is." With another warm smile, Blair gestured for Jim to sit. "What smells so good?"

With a shrug, Jim placed the large roasting pan on the table. Lifting the lid, he said, "Roast chicken, sweet potatoes, green beans, and baby carrots. Here's some cream gravy, and there are..." He lifted a basket from the box. "...buttermilk biscuits."

"Wow. Mrs. H sure has improved! The food has been great for the past month. The first week was hell, man, pure hell. Let me tell you!"

Jim let out a bark of laugher. "Yeah, I know."

The men sat down and filled their plates. Blair dove into the food with gusto, making small sounds of appreciation at the delicious flavors bursting on his tongue. He glanced at Jim, pleased to see the man also enjoying his dinner. Buttering a biscuit, he bit into the light bread and let out a moan of delight.

Jim smiled. "Good?"

"Wonderful!" he said around a mouthful. "Just wonderful."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it."

"I am, trust me. It's hard to find home-cooking this good any more. Way too much fast food in the world."

Jim nodded. "Or microwaved frozen dinners."

"Yeah," Blair said enthusiastically. "Nobody likes to spend time in the kitchen these days. Not like when we were kids and dinner was a huge deal. Papa never let me leave the house without sitting down to dinner with him." Blair smiled at the memory. "We had some great discussions over dinner. Politics. World events. Religion. Sports. The meaning of life. You name it, we talked about it."

"It sounds nice."

"It was. He's the best family anybody could ever want." Helping himself to seconds, Blair added, "Your mom is another one of the good ones."

With a smile, Jim said, "She is. She did everything for Stevie and me. Cooked dinner, too."

Blair leaned back in his chair and gazed at Jim until Jim fidgeted and said, "What?" in a bit of an irritated voice. Blair laughed and shrugged. "I'm so glad you stayed!"

"Me, too."

"So tell me about your job."

For the next hour, while they finished the meal, washed and dried the dishes, and perked a fresh pot of coffee, Blair managed to draw out more information about Jim Ellison than anybody else had ever done. By the time Jim left, Blair felt himself being drawn to the man. Mulling over this new development, Blair decided that he was happy for the companionship, and the desire he felt for Jim was just a plain old need for sex, and there was no doubt that Jim was attractive, and there wasn't anything special about Jim, and he was in love with Brian, and... With a sigh, Blair wondered about his own mind sometimes. He knew very well that the spike of need he felt had nothing to do with Jim personally, Blair insisted to himself. He just needed some sexual release, pure and simple. A session with his own hand would wipe thoughts of Jim Ellison from his mind -- and his body. With a snort at himself, and a promise to take care of business later when he took a shower, Blair went to wake his grandfather for dinner.

-------------------------

Jim: Revealing Secrets

-------------------------

"What are you doing, son?"

Jim started. With a surprised expression, he quickly hit the computer monitor's off button before his mother could glance at the screen and see exactly what he was researching. He schooled his face into pleasantness and rose. "Nothing," he muttered to his mother, who stood, hands on hips, smiling at him. He felt his face blush, as if he were ten years old again with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I didn't hear you knock."

Gracie moved forward, an apology on her lips. "Jimmy," she said, barely touching his arm, "it's okay. It's my fault for not knocking louder. I had no right to come in without your permission. It's just when I realized you were home, and not answering, I became a bit frightened. You know how sometimes you..." Her words trailed off, but her eyes, seemingly full of knowledge that he'd never revealed, asked for his understanding.

Jim vehemently shook his head. "No, it's okay. Sorry... I didn't mean to sound harsh."

Gracie gave Jim a puzzled look, making Jim internally grimace. He was usually so terse with her that his heartfelt apology had aroused her motherly suspicion. But he didn't care. He loved Gracie, and ever since Blair had returned, he felt -- warmer. Inside, he felt more at ease than he had in ten years... Ever since Blair had left in the first place, he realized, he had erected an icy wall about his heart and his life. He kept everybody and everything out, including his family. When was the last time he'd called Stevie and they'd gone out for a beer together? What about his mother, whom he adored? Had he taken her to dinner, or brought her flowers just because he loved her?

Returning his attentions to his mother, he met her eyes and smiled. "I have a fresh pot of coffee," he offered by way of invitation and apology.

Gracie smiled warmly. "And I baked you some of your favorite cookies," she said, waving a hand at the plastic container sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Thank you, Mom." Jim waved toward the sofa. "Do you have time to sit?"

"It's student conference time. I have about an hour before my first meeting."

"Good," Jim said. Trying to mend bridges without actually saying so, he then invited, "Tell me about the kids."

Mother and son chatted for half an hour, and when Gracie left, Jim knew by her curious glance over her shoulder at him that she knew exactly what was going on with him. But he hadn't said a word; given anything away about anything -- his senses, his desires, his wishes. Closing the door, Jim snorted. Yeah, right. He knew Gracie, and he knew that she had some innate sense of what was going on with him. He had no doubt that she knew he was in love with Blair Sandburg, and had been since forever, but that she wouldn't say anything to him. And as for his senses, well, she was his mother. And mothers always seemed to know without being told when their children were concealing things from them. She would never invade Jim's privacy directly, but that didn't stop her from doing a bit of discreet maneuvering behind the scenes. Wondering what else she was up to, Jim returned to the computer and clicked on the monitor.

--------------------------

Because he'd paid for the expensive express mail service for expedited delivery, the package was delivered by a friendly postal worker the next afternoon. Jim had tracked the package via the Internet and paced restlessly until the knock on his door finally came. Excitedly, he took the package with a friendly "thank you" and rushed to the kitchen table. With a knife, he slit the packing tape and carefully removed the contents.

Jim reverently held the old book in his hand. "The Sentinels of Paraguay" was embossed on the old leather cover, and when he leafed through the book, he was drawn to the page with a photographic plate. The tribal guardian looked fierce, but Jim could see something in his eyes. He could see himself. He gulped noisily. His research from years ago had revealed the idea of Sentinels to Jim, and at first, he'd rejected the idea, but his eighteen months in Peru had changed that rejection into reluctant acceptance. And since Blair had returned, full knowledge dawned. Blair was his -- other half. His partner. His...? There had to be a better way to describe what he wanted -- needed from Blair. He leaned back and crossed his arms. He needed Blair beside him. To ground him. To help focus his senses. To anchor him in a zone. To guide him- Guide!

"That's it!" Jim said aloud. "He's my Guide!" Then another thought hit home, deflating Jim's good feelings about needing Blair. "He's in love with Rafe. He doesn't want you." Starting to feel depressed yet again, Jim's gaze found the book lying on his computer table. "No, no, no. Every Sentinel needs a partner. I've found mind, and by God, I'll do everything I can to have him. Starting tonight."

With a glance at the clock, Jim smiled. It was time to fetch the food from Mrs. Higginson's and to see his -- Guide. Grabbing the book, he nestled it back into the box and closed the lid to keep it safe. Tucking it under his arm, he set out on his nightly errand.

-------------------------------

"What's on the menu tonight?" Martin asked, sniffing the air. "Smell's great!"

Jim smiled as he set the two cardboard boxes down on the kitchen counter. The box on the top held tonight's dinner, pot roast with lean beef, fresh vegetables and a rich, herb gravy. A crisp Romaine lettuce and tomato salad and a sugarless apple tart rounded out the meal. The second box held the Sentinel book, but Jim's courage in personally giving Blair the item vanished when he looked into Blair's friendly face. He almost bolted without speaking, but knowing that would be too rude even for his usual stoic demeanor, Jim gave a shrug.

"I'm on duty in twenty minutes, so I'll bid you both a good night," Jim said quickly, already backing toward the door.

"Oh?" Blair said. "I was hoping you'd stay."

Jim stopped, the tone of disappointment at his words evident in Blair's voice. He felt a bit of hope at the idea that Blair actually wanted him to stay and was disappointed that he was leaving without even a short visit. Suddenly, he felt his courage return, so he quickly said, "The second box is something for you, Sandburg. Just a book. Enjoy." Then he did turn and leave, not stopping until he was in his truck and on the way to the station.

---------------------------

Blair: Facing Truths

---------------------------

He loved the book. The familiar old paper smell tickled his nose, and the yellowed pages were a feast for his eyes. The information that the book revealed was priceless. Sentinels... And Jim was one of them, he was sure of it. The tale was old and forgotten. Guardians of the tribe; watchmen of the village; hunters with special gifts; and always, with the extraordinary Sentinel, was his partner, his companion... Blair smiled, appreciatively running his hand over the cracked leather. So Jim was a Sentinel, and he needed a partner. With a widening of his eyes and a quickening of his heart, Blair knew. Jim wanted him -- Blair Sandburg -- for his partner. Every Sentinel needed one, he now knew, and this was Jim's way of asking if Blair would be his.

But Blair couldn't be Jim's partner. He'd read the book. A partner was a life-long companion, always beside his Sentinel, always guiding, always keeping an eye out for the awful-sounding zones, always providing a grounding influence. He couldn't possibly be Jim's partner because he knew he was going to be with Brian. Together, they were going to raise Brian's children. They'd have a house on the lake and they'd be a family. That's what he wanted -- wasn't it? Not to be -- linked to a man who needed somebody to watch his ass twenty-four/seven. He wasn't interested in being a cop, and being a cop's sidekick seemed even more unappealing.

With a sigh, Blair rubbed his hands through his hair before covering his face with his hands and shaking his head. Then why did he feel a pull toward Ellison? Why did he want to be close to him, to touch him, to help him, when he was in love with Brian? Unable to provide himself with answers, he shook his head in exasperation. With a groan, Blair dropped the book onto the bedside table and clicked off the light. He slipped down onto the bed and drew the covers to his chin. Blinking into the night with wide-awake eyes, he sighed. What did he want anyway? To go back to the city? To write more books? To stay with his grandfather? He was so confused about what he really wanted and more than irritated that he couldn't decide when he heard a sound coming from down the hall. Sitting up, Blair strained, listening carefully. His grandfather's voice came to him, barely audible. Panicked, Blair leaped from the bed and raced to Martin's room.

"Papa?" Blair cried, rushing through the dark room to his grandfather's side.

"Can't... breathe..." Martin gasped.

"Stay still! Relax!" Blair raced into the living room and hit 911 on the phone. After barking his address and need for ambulance, he ran back to Martin's side and held his hand, whispering words of encouragement and love until the sound of the approaching siren finally reached his ears.

------------------------------

"Blair!"

Blair's head jerked up, his eyes wide. He rose from the hard plastic chair in the Emergency Room's waiting room and raced straight into Brian's arms.

"Shhh, it's okay," Brian said comfortingly, holding Blair tightly. "How is he?"

Blair's arms circled Brian's waist and he buried his face into the fragrant suede of Brian's jacket. "He's okay," Blair said in a voice muffled by the material. "He's okay, thank God."

"What happened?" Brian asked quietly.

Blair swallowed noisily and pulled back a few inches. "He couldn't breathe. The doctor said it was kind of like an anxiety attack. He felt he couldn't breathe so he panicked himself. I thought he was dying!" Blair's hands dug into Brian's arms.

"Hey, I'm here now. Are you okay?" Brian touched Blair's hair with gentle fingers.

Nodding, Blair whispered, "Yes. Thanks for coming."

"So what can I do?" Brian asked, his hand moving to clasp Blair's shoulder.

"Take me home? The doctor's keeping him overnight for observation. He says I can take him home about noon. I rode in on the ambulance..." Blair sighed.

"Sure, let's go." With a comforting arm around Blair's shoulders, Brian led Blair to his car.

Once at home, Blair walked tiredly into the kitchen and slumped into a chair.

"Coffee?" Brian asked.

"Yes, please."

"It's dawn. How about something to eat? I make great scrambled eggs."

Blair looked into his friend's hazel eyes. "Okay. Thanks, Bri."

Brian smiled warmly. "For you -- anything."

Blair watched while Brian started the coffee perking, and with his direction, found the frying pan, a bowl and the ingredients for breakfast. Sipping the hot coffee gratefully, Blair nibbled at the eggs Brian set before him before he yawned widely.

Brian tugged on Blair's arm. "Come on. Go in and take a nap before you have to go and pick up Martin. You look wiped out."

Blair smiled. "I am beat. Thanks." He rose and stood tentatively before Brian for a few moments before he moved forward a step and wrapped his arms around his friend. Brian responded by hugging Blair and the men clung to each other for a long moment until Blair tipped his head to the side and their eyes met. Blair licked his lips, moving slowly closer until his mouth touched Brian's. For a moment, Brian returned the kiss but then he abruptly pushed Blair away.

"I can't!" Brian cried, wiping his fingers across his lips. "I'm sorry. I just -- can't! You know I love you, but I'm not- I can't do this!"

"Brian, please!" Blair said sorrowfully, trying to move closer. "I need-"

"No!" Brian said harshly, holding Blair at arm's length. "I know what you need, but I can't give it to you! Don't you understand?" Turning quickly, Brian raced from the house, slamming the door behind him.

Stunned from the gruff rebuke, Blair sank back into the kitchen chair and dropped his head onto his crossed arms, willing himself not to cry.

------------------------------

Jim: The Awful Truth

------------------------------

Jim sat stiffly at the dinner table, surrounded by way too many people. Why had he accepted Blair's invitation? He wasn't good with this many people at once. They were all talking, and laughing, and enjoying the food while he picked at his dinner and wondered why he didn't fit in.

Martin sat at one end of the table while Gracie sat at the other. On one side of the dinner table, Jim sat next to little Andrew Rafe. Next to Andrew sat Brian and then Nathan. Across from Jim sat Blair, Mrs. Higginson, a widow with no family who often joined in holiday gatherings. Rounding off the group, next to Mrs. H, at Gracie's end was Megan Connor, a young woman who worked in Jim's office. Megan had had been part of the original group of women whom Mrs. Higginson had tried to fix Blair up with that fateful Sunday a few months ago. Gracie had taken a liking to the young woman, and Megan and Gracie had become friends in the past few months. Since Megan was a recent immigrant from Australia and had no close family, Gracie had invited her to their holiday dinner.

At first, Jim thought that his mother might try to fix him up with Megan, but Gracie had made no such moves. It seemed that the two women simply enjoyed each other's company, and once Jim realized that fact, he relaxed and discovered he rather liked Megan himself -- just as a friend, of course.

He glanced around the table, wondering if Blair noticed the eye contact going on between Megan and Brian. Megan looked almost radiant while Brian smiled and kept looking her way. Gracie caught Jim's eye and smiled as she helped herself to a slice of turkey. He returned her smile with a quick one of his own before spearing a few green beans with his fork. As he ate a few small bites, his mind wandered away from the gathering and into dangerous ground -- he thought about Blair. How good he looked with his hair freshly washed, and dressed in a soft-looking deep blue sweater. How his eyes sparkled when he spoke to his grandfather. How he ate as if he enjoyed his food, and when he licked a finger, how his tongue flicked out, pink and wet...

"Jim?" Blair's voice washed over his senses, a comforting sound in a sea of noisy people.

"Huh?" he answered dumbly, barely able to concentrate.

"Are you okay?"

Deep blue eyes gazed into his. He felt himself drawn into the smoky depths. Allowing himself to focus his senses on Blair -- on his scent, his features, his voice -- he realized how much better his senses worked when he was around the man. Being with Blair felt so right! Why didn't Blair know? Couldn't he feel it? Feel how much he needed Blair? "I'm fine," he finally muttered.

"Funny, you don't look fine."

Jim glanced around. He was surprised that nobody was paying attention to him and Blair. Then he realized that Blair had been speaking so softly that most of the table's diners, who were busy engaged in other conversations, probably hadn't even realized that they'd been talking. Jim's gaze met Blair's and he stared, almost ready to bolt. Blair smiled knowingly, but his smile was friendly and open. Jim relaxed a bit, and remained in his seat.

"I read the book," Blair said.

"Oh."

"It was very good. The subject matter was most interesting and I think there are real possibilities hidden in the modern aspects of anyone who has those abilities. I'd like to do some more research and possibly a paper on the subject. What do you think?" Blair's face was animated, full of curiosity.

Jim gulped. He took a quick sip of cool water before he carefully sat the glass down. "What kind of research?"

"Field and lab tests. In a variety of settings and under many conditions. Trials to test the limits and to study the control needed, or the lack thereof." Blair's words, while vague to the rest of the diners, were hitting home for Jim.

Jim nodded. "I'd be interested in that sort of -- study."

"What sort of study is that?" Martin interjected.

Blair grinned while Jim shrugged. "Jim and I have a mutual interest. We both enjoy studying Amazon tribal cultures and customs."

"Oh? Jim, you have first-hand knowledge of Amazon tribes, don't you?" Martin asked, giving Jim an innocent look. "I'd love to hear some of the stories about the time you spent in Peru."

Jim shook his head. "It's not very exciting. Really."

Martin snagged another biscuit and as he split it to spread with butter, he said, "Nonsense! The boys would love to hear your stories. Right, boys?" He glanced in the direction of Nathan and Andrew, drawing the other diners into the conversation.

Brian smiled when the children nodded enthusiastically. "The boys would love to hear first-hand tales of the Amazon. We've watched a lot of documentaries on the Discovery Channel," he added. "I'd like to hear them also."

Megan chimed in, "I'd love to hear your stories, Jim. It sounds so romantic. Imagine being lost in the jungle for eighteen months."

Trapped within the bounds of social proprietary, Jim swallowed while he searched his brain for something interesting to tell the table of people who now all sat and looked at him in anticipation.

Martin cleared his throat and said, "So Jimmy, tell us about the kind of food you ate while you were in Peru."

With a grateful look at his host for the bit of discreet direction, Jim nodded and for the next thirty minutes, proceeded to describe his adventures to the rapt attention of the dinner guests. Finally, his throat dry, he begged off on another story until after dessert, which was to be served later on after everyone had a chance to let the delicious dinner they had just enjoyed settle.

Happy that the evening seemed to be progressing favorably, it wasn't until the table was being cleared that Jim realized what he'd been doing the entire time he'd been in the Sandburg home: he'd been "following" Blair with his senses, and now he could hear Blair speaking, his voice soft and unhappy. When Blair's heart rate spiked, Jim sat up and concentrated, listening as Blair spoke.

"Do you think I'm stupid? I saw how you looked at her! Just leave me alone."

"That's not fair!" another voice interjected. Jim realized it was Brian Rafe, and from the sound of their muffled voices, they were speaking from the enclosed back porch.

"Not fair? And you don't think you letting me believe that someday I might have a chance to be with you is fair! Do you know how long I've been in love with you? Since ninth grade, Bri. That's fifteen years! Since I was thirteen!"

"Blair, I'm sorry I can't give you what you want! I love you-"

Blair let out a derisive snort. "You love me? Don't make me laugh."

"I do! I love you but just not the way you want me to! Please... I want to be with you!"

"What? You want what? To be with me? How, exactly?" Blair demanded, angry.

"Anyway you want me, as long as..."

Silence fell and the pause stretched before Blair finally said, "As long as I don't want a physical relationship with you."

"Yes," Brian whispered. "I'm not-- gay. But I do love you. With all my heart."

Blair's voice was cold when he said, "Oh, good heavens. Give me a break. Are we going to do the "let's be friends" scenario? What a laugh."

"Blair, you're my best friend. I want to be with you. I want to share my life with you, but... I can't be your sexual partner. I just can't! And just why is it that you get to set the parameters of our relationship? Why do you get to say it has to be this or that, or nothing? Why don't I get a say?"

"Get the hell out of my way." Jim heard the sounds of a small scuffle. He started to rise, worried that Brian might get physical with Blair, but when he heard the small "oomph" he realized that it was Blair who'd shoved Brian, making him huff out his breath when he hit the wall.

"Please, Blair..."

"I need space between us, Brian. I can't do this right now. Maybe some day, but it's too painful right now."

"I understand."

When the voices ceased. Jim rose and walked toward the back door. The door opened and the men entered the house. Blair's gaze met Jim's, making Blair blush. That was when Jim realized that Blair knew he'd heard the exchange between him and Brian.

Jim stiffly walked toward the back door. "I have to go," he said curtly.

"Please, Jim. Don't go," Blair begged quietly. "Please. Stay for dessert."

"I have to go," Jim repeated, opening the door. He glanced at Blair before turning away. If he met those eyes, he knew he'd fold, do whatever Blair wanted, fall to his knees and declare his abiding love right in the middle of the kitchen, in front of Blair's family and his mother, not to mention one of his co-workers. He could just imagine the reception he'd get in the bullpen after they heard about such a scene. Frantic to leave before he did something he'd really regret after he totally embarrassed himself, Jim lurched for the door.

"Let me get your coat, at least," Blair pleaded.

"I'll get it later."

Jim quickly slipped out and almost ran for his truck. Once in the driver's seat, he didn't move, but sat frozen in place, his body refusing to budge. He wasn't sure to be extremely happy or incredibly sad overhearing what had happened between Blair and Rafe. Blair was very upset now that he knew that he was wasting his time pining over Rafe. But maybe now that Blair realized the futility of loving a straight man, he'd come to the realization that Jim was the one he needed, who loved him with all of his heart, and who would be caring and faithful as long as he lived. Maybe that was how it was with Sentinels. Maybe once they found their one true partner, they never looked for or needed another. With a thousand questions dancing in his mind, and with no answers at hand, Jim finally moved. He sighed tiredly, started the truck and drove to his lonely home.

---------------------------

Blair: Hiding and Seeking

---------------------------

"Papa? Are you okay?" Blair asked, seeing his grandfather sitting so still and quiet on the sofa in the dark living room. He clicked on a small light and stood before his grandfather, hands on hips. "Do you want me to help you to bed?"

"I'm good right here for now, Sonny. Why don't you come here and sit down?" He patted the sofa cushion with a wide hand, smiling up at Blair.

"You want coffee?"

"No, not right now."

Blair smiled. "Okay." He sat down, curling his feet under him and leaning back against the cushions. "I'm tired."

"It was a good dinner, Blair. I enjoyed it."

"I- I guess. I mean- Sorry," he finally blurted out.

"What is it? What has you so tied up inside?" Martin asked, his face full of concern. "Why are you so unhappy?"

Blair shrugged, closing his eyes. "I'm not. Not really. I'm okay."

"I don't think I raised you to lie, Blair," Martin said softly, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

"I'm -- sorry."

"Are you afraid to talk to me, Sonny?"

"No! I'm not- I love you! You've been the best parent a guy could have!" Blair sat up and rubbed his eyes. "It's just so complicated!"

Martin put out a hand and touched Blair's shoulder. "It doesn't have to be complicated. It's really very simple. You look at me and you say what you need to say. Straight forward, like we always have. You and me. We've had a good life, Blair."

Blair's eyes filled and he irritatedly wiped them. His throat closed and before he knew it, he was tugged to his grandfather's shoulder by a firm hand. He buried his face in Martin's soft sweater and tried to stifle the tears that threatened to fall.

"Shhh. It's okay, Blair. I love you. You know that. I'm proud of you. You know that also, don't you?" Martin said comfortingly. "You're my sonny-boy."

"You know, don't you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Didn't I raise you from a small boy of four to the man you are today? How could I not know? And why are you ashamed of what you are? I never taught you that. I taught you to do your best, be kind and polite, to work hard, and to hold your head high. I taught you to be proud of yourself, didn't I?"

"I know you did," Blair whispered, taking his grandfather's hand. "I love you."

Martin's warm hand rubbed the top of Blair's head. "And I love you, son. Now you tell me what you need to tell me, and I'll be right here to help you through it."

Nodding, Blair sniffled before huffing out a shaky breath. "I thought I was... with Brian... But -- he's not... And now with Jim... He has this -- physical condition... And he wants to... With me... And I want to help... And I don't know what to do!"

Chuckling softly, Martin said, "That was the most revealing statement I've ever heard."

Blair gave a weak laugh. "Sorry. Guess it was kind of -- cryptic."

"Kind of? Listen. Let's get a nice, hot cup of coffee or tea, and then you'll explain everything to me in minute detail. In small words, so that I understand."

Sitting up, Blair wiped his face with his hands. After rubbing his hands on his pants, he snorted softly. "One thing you aren't, Papa, is clueless. Thank you. I'd like to talk."

"Good. Now help an old man out to the kitchen. I'm thirsty."

---------------------------------------

Blair dropped his backpack on the kitchen counter and looked at the room's only occupant with puzzlement. "Jim?" He glanced around. The evening's dinner was still in its box, the table not set. His grandfather... "Where's Papa?" When he looked at Jim, Jim's gaze met his briefly before flicking away. Seeing Jim's obvious discomfort, Blair started to panic. "Jim, where's Papa?" he demanded.

Jim slowly raised his head and his eyes finally met Blair's. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I called my mother. She's on her way, but I haven't called... I thought you might want a few minutes in private to say... goodbye."

"No," Blair said between clenched teeth, seeing the compassion in Jim's eyes. "No, no!" Turning, he raced from the room, down the hall and into his grandfather's bedroom. Martin lay on his back, covered to his neck, looking peaceful, but Blair knew. "Papa!" he cried, throwing himself onto his grandfather's chest. "Noooo," he cried, his hands clenching the bedspread. "God, no. I'm not ready!"

"My mother's on her way over," Jim's quiet voice said from the doorway. Blair raised his head, tears streaking his face. "I'm so sorry, Chief," he whispered.

Blair rose and turned toward Jim, swaying on his feet. Jim moved forward and wrapped his arms around Blair's shoulders. Blair let out a sob and clung to Jim, burying his face in his shoulder. Jim's hand rubbed Blair's back and his mouth pressed against his ear.

"Shhh. I'm here. I'm so sorry. He was such a good man." Nodding, Blair hung on tighter. Then he heard Jim say, "Mom!" In the next breath, Gracie was beside Blair, wrapping her arms around both Blair and Jim, and the three clung to each other, grieving for their loss.

-------------------------

"Thanks for coming," Blair said to the departing guests. With a tired sigh, he rubbed his dry eyes. The funeral was now officially over, the finality hitting him hard. He'd never see his grandfather again. Never hear his strong voice. Never feel his touch. Dropping his chin to his chest, Blair blinked back the tears that hadn't fallen since four days ago when his only living family had died.

"Blair..." Jim stood uncertainly, hands behind his back. "I'll be going now. Mom is staying for a little while to help clean up."

Nodding, Blair said, "Thanks for everything. I couldn't have gone through this without you."

"It was nothing."

Blair shook his head, trembling with fatigue and grief. He felt the tears slip down his cheeks, but he quickly wiped them away. He needed someone to hold him, he needed to be comforted, he wanted... God, he didn't know what he wanted! Brian had been friendly and supportive, but decidedly distant the past few days. Jim had been strong, silent and available, but still, Blair held back even though he knew that if he gave Jim any type of encouragement, that he would find himself wrapped once again in the strong arms. Just like the night his Papa had died.

"No, it wasn't nothing. It meant a lot to me," Blair said, raising his face to look into Jim's eyes. "Thank you."

With a small smile and a nod, Jim left. Gracie walked up behind Blair and said, "The dishes are all washed. There are a few plates and bowls on the table that belong to friends who brought a dish to share. Don't worry about returning them today, sweetie. You just take care of yourself, and things will work out."

Blair glanced at Gracie, wondering if she was really talking about returning dishes or his life. He shrugged. "I hope so."

"I'm driving Mrs. Higginson home, so I'd better collect my casserole dish and get a move on before she settles down in your living room. Then it will take me hours to get her out of your hair," Gracie said softly. "She means well, and she always liked you and your grandfather."

"I know. I'll come and thank her for everything she's done." Blair walked to the kitchen, followed by Gracie, where Mrs. Higginson was drying the last few dishes. He stopped beside her and said, "Thanks for everything, Mrs. H. I really appreciate it. I know Papa did also."

Mrs. Higginson dried her hands on a tea towel, hung it neatly and then turned to Blair. Hugging him, she kissed his cheek. "You're a good boy, Blair. I'll miss Martin so much. I remember the first time we met. It was in '49-"

"Agnes," Gracie interrupted, "Blair's really tired, so what do you say I take you home and you come over another time to tell Blair about how you first met Martin?"

Smiling and nodding, Mrs. Higginson gave Blair another hug. "You know me, honey. Always ready for a visit and a cup of tea."

"Thank you."

"You go and rest. Are you sure you don't want me to fix you something to eat?" Mrs. Higginson asked. "You're much too thin!"

"No, really. I'm fine."

"Okay, then. I'll see you in a few days."

Gracie picked up her casserole dish from the table. "Don't forget your plate, Agnes," she said, holding up an etched crystal platter. "And where did you find your recipe? The salmon mousse was delicious. Was the cream cheese flavored with fresh dill? I can't believe you took the time to prepare your own puff pastry. I've never even attempted such a complicated recipe!"

Mrs. Higginson looked completely confused. "That's not mine. I brought three bean casserole."

Blair took the plate from Gracie's hand and studying it for a second. "Mrs. H, I'm sure that's your plate. I remember Jim bringing it in and said he'd helped you carry in stuff from your car."

Shaking her head, Mrs. Higginson replied, "No, that's not mine. I've never owned a plate that like. This is mine." She picked up the green Pyrex bowl that sat on the far corner of the table. "Besides, I don't eat salmon, and I certainly know what I brought for the buffet table."

Blair mused aloud, "Strange, because I remember the dish from one of the dinners you fixed a couple of weeks ago."

"Honey," Mrs. Higginson repeated kindly, "It's not my dish."

Gazing at Gracie intently, Blair said, "Then I wonder who-"

To Blair, Gracie looked as if she were trying to appear confused about the plate mix up, but he also saw something else, just a hint of satisfaction in what had happened regarding the revelation that Mrs. Higginson hadn't made the salmon. When Gracie saw Blair's intense scrutiny, she blushed and looked away before she quickly said, "Come along, Agnes. I'm getting a bit of a headache."

Mrs. Higginson bade Blair a final farewell, as did Gracie. Blair walked the ladies to the door where he thanked them again. Watching as they drove away, Blair considered the seemingly insignificant plate debacle. The plate belonged to whomever had prepared the many evening dinners that he and his grandfather had enjoyed for the past months. If Mrs. Higginson hadn't prepared the meals, then who had?

"Oh my God," Blair whispered, leaning back against the doorframe. "Jim."

-------------------------------

Jim: Shot Through The Heart

-------------------------------

"You're leaving?" Jim said incredulously. "But... why?"

Blair sighed. "I don't live in Cascade, Jim. I have an apartment, a job, friends. There are museums and restaurants that I like..." He walked over to the loft's balcony and looked out.

Jim moved behind him. "So you're leaving because the East has better restaurants?"

"No! Jim, please..." Blair slipped around Jim. "I brought you something."

Jim stood, back to Blair, hands clenched. "I don't want you to give me anything."

"I know, but..." Fishing through his backpack, Blair drew out a large manila envelope. "Jim?"

Hearing the uncertainty in Blair's tone, Jim finally turned. He swallowed and steeled himself. If this is what Blair wanted, he had no right to stand in his way. He had no standing in Blair's life to ask for anything for himself. Lifting his chin, even though his heart was breaking, Jim forced a pleasant expression on his face. "What's up?" he asked as lightly as possible.

Blair opened the envelope and spread the material on the table. "I've been doing some research. This notebook has a lot of easy exercises for you to work on. They'll help you control your senses. And I've recorded a couple of meditation tapes for you. I hope you don't mind hearing my voice."

With a disarming grin, Blair looked at Jim, making Jim's heart flutter. "No, I like your voice. Thanks." Jim managed to stifle the groan that threatened to burst out of his chest. Blair's voice was one of the things that grounded him, but he wanted to hear Blair in person, not on some damned tape! Nevertheless, he reined in his emotions. "What else?" he asked calmly, even though his insides felt like they were being kicked into a bloody pulp.

"Here's a diary for you to write in whenever you have sensory issues. You can fax or email me, and I'll get back to you on what to try to fix whatever's wrong, or to get whatever's not working, working again." Blair drew out the book that Jim had given him and placed it on the table. "And your book-"

"No!" Jim said loudly. When Blair's wide blue eyes met his, Jim lowered his voice and said pleadingly, "Please, keep it. It was a gift. I want you to have it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Thanks. I- I hated to give it up, but I felt funny..." Blair shrugged.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh." Jim moved away from Blair, forcing a physical distance between him and his true love. He knew if he didn't, he would make a fool of himself. He would throw himself to his knees and wrap his arms around Blair's waist, burying his face in his stomach. He would beg and plead with Blair to stay. He would promise to do whatever Blair wanted as long as he stayed. He would promise to say whatever Blair needed to hear... Shocked at how close he was to losing it completely, he walked stiffly to the sofa and with cool indifference, flicked on the television. "Have a good trip," he said over his shoulder.

He could sense Blair's confusion at the abrupt dismissal, but he couldn't look at Blair again. Not right now, anyway. His emotions were running high, higher than they ever had before. Blair was leaving, and he didn't know if he would survive. Of if he even wanted to. He waited, holding his breath, until he heard the door open and then softly close. Huffing out the breath he'd been holding, he focused his sight on the small screen, intently staring at the small green lizard that cavorted before his vision. He simultaneously blocked out everything else, and in seconds, he felt that familiar unwelcome jolt that he hadn't felt in many years as everything faded away...

--------------------------

"Jimmy!"

Jim jerked awake. He blinked dazedly several times. The hand on his shoulder lightly shook him into full awareness. "Mom?" he gasped, his throat dry.

"Are you okay, son?" Gracie's wide blue eyes intently watched him.

"Yeah... What time is it?" Jim glanced out the balcony windows. The morning sun shone brightly, making him grimace. Hadn't it been late afternoon when he had said -- goodbye to Blair?

"It's almost eleven."

"In the morning?" he croaked, rising on shaky legs, only to stumble against his mother, who immediately wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Sit down, James. What happened? Did you have -- an episode?" Fear tinged her words, making Jim contrite for causing her pain. The thought that she understood about his senses didn't even register. He was beyond caring who knew his supposedly big secrets any longer.

"I'm okay. May I have some water, please?"

"Of course. Just sit for a minute."

Nodding, Jim rubbed his eyes while Gracie found a fresh bottle of water in the fridge. Unscrewing the top, she held it out to her son. "Drink this, sweetie."

"Thanks." Jim sipped the cool liquid, grateful as his thirst abated. When he finished most of the small bottle, he finally wiped his mouth. "Thanks, Mom," he repeated.

Gracie sat on the coffee table opposite and waited until his gaze met hers. "Are you going to let him go?"

"What?" Jim asked, as always, confused and surprised at Gracie's instincts.

"Blair. Are you going to go after him?"

"Why?"

Gracie sighed in exasperation. "Are we going to always to do this, son?"

"What?" Jim asked, suddenly anxious.

"James Ellison," she said sharply, drawing his total concentration. "Are you in love with Blair or not?"

"I- Why- It's-" Jim looked away from Gracie's piercing gaze.

"So let me get this straight. And I do mean straight," she said pointedly, making Jim raise an eyebrow and look at her with his mouth open. "You are going to let the man you love leave without putting up a fight. You're going to squander your life by letting yourself never be happy." When Jim started to protest, Gracie, said, "Be quiet, James." He clamped his mouth shut, making Gracie nod. "Good. It's about time you started listening to your heart. You're wasting your life. I know you're not stupid, James, because you're a strong, capable man. I know you're scared because in your line of work, every day you see what kind of problems two men who are lovers can have, but I find it impossible to believe that you're willing to sit here and watch the love of your life leave you. It isn't like you, Jimmy. You're stronger than that. And I raised you better than that.

"Now I suggest you get your backside off of that sofa and if you're lucky, you'll be able to get to the airport before Blair leaves. Then I suggest you tell him that you love him, and give him a big kiss, and ask him to marry you... or whatever two same sex partners do these days. Nevertheless, do something! Don't just sit there and wallow in your own self-loathing and stupid idea of bravery!"

Jim sat, stunned, for a long moment, before Gracie sighed and stood. Giving Jim a bop on the head, she ordered, "Now!"

Jim jerked out of his shocked state. His mother had never spoken to him that way before, but even though this was all new to him, he also knew that she was absolutely one hundred percent correct. Rising, he nodded and without a word, grabbed his keys and jacket, and ran for his truck.

---------------------------------

Hours later, it was with a dejected voice that Jim finally answered his cell phone. Blair's plane had been pulling away from the gate when he finally convinced airport security that he was a police officer and that he needed to be allowed through security immediately. Precious moments were lost as his identification was examined, so when he was finally allowed through after having to submit to an electronic search, he missed stopping the plane by less than five minutes.

He slowly drove aimlessly through the city streets, his senses stifled as much as possible because of the likelihood of another uncontrollable zone like he'd suffered just last night. Jim knew that as time went on, without Blair's grounding influence, that his senses would become more and more obstinate. He even wondered how long it would be before they interfered enough to get him killed. The sooner the better, he hoped. Grimacing at his depressing thoughts, he nevertheless admitted that the idea of dying held some measure of comfort.

"Ellison."

"Jimmy? I need you to come on over to the house as soon as you can."

"Mom... Can this wait? I have a bit of a headache-"

"It can't wait. It's important."

With a tired sigh, Jim said, "Okay. Be there in ten minutes."

"Thank you, son."

------------------------

Jim walked slowly from his truck to the sidewalk in front of his mother's house. In his current depressed state, he never saw the green Volvo parked down the street in front of a neighbor's house. When he did notice his brother's car parked in the driveway, he hurried the rest of the way up the walk, suddenly worried that somebody was sick or had died. Not bothering to knock, he burst through the front door to find his mother and brother standing shoulder to shoulder in the hallway.

"What's wrong?" Jim demanded.

Gracie grinned and Steven rolled his eyes when he said, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact..." Stepping aside as if on cue, they parted.

"Blair!" Jim cried, seeing the welcome form of his Guide standing before him with a huge grin on his face.

"Hello, Jim!" Blair answered, racing forward and holding out his hands.

Jim immediately grasped both of Blair's hands in his. With a loud laugh, Jim held their arms up, his eyes drinking in the body before him. "Will you marry me?" Jim blurted out, skipping any explanations or questions for now.

"Yes," Blair answered, his eyes dancing.

"Great!" Jim yanked Blair forward, dropping his hands and wrapping his arms around his heart's desire. He lifted Blair from the floor and twirled him around and around, his head thrown back and his deep laugh bubbling out with abandon.

"Jim! Stop!" Blair lightly pounded Jim on the back. "You're making me dizzy!"

Still laughing, Jim planted Blair on his feet and clamped strong hands on his shoulders. "You didn't go!"

"Good observation," Blair responded, laughing himself. "I couldn't leave you." Jim laughed again, making Blair grin. "That's a wonderful sound."

"What?" Jim asked, his grin never dimming. He felt wonderful. His senses hummed with life, and he felt tingly and warm.

"Your laugh. I've never heard you really laugh before."

"Never had much reason to."

"And now?"

"Now I do!" Jim chortled aloud.

Blair moved closer to Jim until their chests touched. He tugged Jim's head down until his mouth touched his ear and he whispered, "I love you."

Jim hugged Blair tightly, once again laughing deeply, while Gracie and Steven looked on with their own wide smiles plastered on their faces.

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Blair and Jim: Warm Cascade Nights

-----------------------

A thousand tiny white lights sparkled from the ceiling where they were strung over Jim and Blair's heads. The requisite red and white paper hearts decorated every surface: tables, walls, doorways. Red and white flowers graced each table. A ten piece band played soft, romantic music, enticing the dancers to the floor. Dressed in black tuxedos, crisp white shirts and black bow ties, their arms around each other, Jim and Blair danced slowly, laughing softly when each man forgot who was leading whom and stepped on each other's toes.

Other dancers circled around the lovers. Gracie and Tony, the new man in her life, who was introduced to the friendly woman by her eldest son -- after a background check, of course. Steven and Chrissy, his wife of seven years. Brian and Megan, who were celebrating the one month anniversary of their first date. Mrs. Higginson and Everett Miles, another family friend who actually liked Mrs. H's cooking.

Outside, the wind blew, strong and cold. Thick raindrops pelted down, relentlessly tapping against the window glass. The weatherman predicted another twenty-four hours of miserable, cold weather, but inside, everything was warm and toasty.

With private smiles meant for only each other, and with signals only the closest of lovers could possibly understand, each man moved toward the other, fusing their mouths together while their bodies continued to sway to the sensual music. The fireworks that exploded over their heads, blue, red, green, yellow and white, were visible to only the lovers, and their hearts connected amid the sparkling shower. Love flowed between them, almost tangible to any onlookers who danced closely to the affectionate couple. And as the night melted away, they spent it, as always, in each other's arms.

The end.

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Acknowledgements: Thanks to Lyn and Chris for the fine beta work. Thanks to Ankaree for her great art.